Tag Archives: Tampa

Please Don’t Stab Me

So I am laying on the comfy and warm massage table, and the masseuse walks in. You can catch up on Part 1 here.

Masseuse: So you’re from Maryland? What are you doing here in Tampa?

Thoughtsy: My boyfriend and I are visiting friends, and this massage is part of my birthday present.

Masseuse: Awww…you have a nice boyfriend. Not like my exboyfriend. He was a crackhead.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Oh my god, where the hell did Kiefer leave me? Weren’t those macarons in the Serenity Room? Surely the ghetto spa wouldn’t have macarons. Or a Serenity Room.

Thoughtsy: I’m glad he’s your ex.

Masseuse: My new boyfriend isn’t much better. He moved in with me because the crackhead was stalking me, but he slept with some girl a few nights ago.

Thoughtsy: Oh, I’m so sorry.

Masseuse: Don’t worry. I showed him. When he showed up at my house last night, I started screaming at him. And I threatened him with a butcher knife.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Mental note to keep track of where her hands are at all times.

Masseuse: He was so controlling, too. I was never allowed to have any friends over, but he could have his over. But I showed him. Once when we were grilling with our neighbors, and I used scissors to cut his shirt.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Dear God, Please let me make it out of here alive.

The masseuse eventually asked me what I thought of her current situation. I told her I thought it was time to leave her boyfriend. She agreed. I hope she does.

Masseuse: Oops. I went a little over on your massage because I was so busy talking. I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t even going to talk to you at all, but I guess I just needed to get it all out.

Moral of the Massage: Listening to a masseuse vent will get you a longer massage.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Oh come on, no way she’s an effective bum self waxer. She can’t even see it all.”—Omawarisan

Dear Tropical Storm Debby, Go Away.

Dear Tropical Storm Debby and Mother Nature,

I’m not sure if you were aware or not, but this past weekend was my birthday weekend. I planned to spend a long weekend in Tampa filled with seeing my godson, friends, and sunny beaches.

Sunny beaches. Instead of sun, you gave me buckets and buckets of rain. And, of course, all the rain caused flooding, so we couldn’t even get close to a beach.

Then, just for good measure, you threw in a few tornadoes. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

In turn, all of that nasty weather ruined a baseball tournament. You know where all those kids ended up? Kiefer and I’s hotel. Nice….

Lucky for you, Kiefer is pretty awesome, so we still had a nice time. But was it really necessary to linger for days? You couldn’t even have given me one day with some sun and beach weather?

Mother Nature, you’re a beach. I hate you.


Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Dear Thoughtsy, Better keep your hands off my potential new boyfriend. Sincerely, Skipping.”—Skipping Stones